Tucking into bed, flipping on the television. Land on HSN. Mindless, semi-entertaining, no huge commitment. Bubbly, not likely to bring nightmares. It was that, or reality TV. I don’t often make purchases (the last one was 2 NFL Snuggies), but I like to zone out to it every now and then. Not long ago Jessica Simpson was on HSN (or QVC?), peddling products with her mom. It was great. The vacant expression and semi-incoherent product descriptions. Good TV. Recently I watched as an older male designer talked up the shirts he was selling (they looked like the geriatric fall preview). The models couldn’t even make the frocks look appealing, but the host and designer pitched on them as if we were sitting side stage on the catwalk – and kept their faces straight as they did it. They’re good. And this is why I simply would not make a good salesperson. Seriously, that blue, pleated shirt that screams “grandma’s house circa 1980″ is a “must-have” addition to any woman’s wardrobe?

Back to the night of my purchase.

I think, subliminally, I had already heard of Carol’s Daugther products, so I was close to being sold anyway. Strap that in with a dose of fatigue and out comes the white flag of surrender. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time (or vice versa if I end up hating this product). My eyes were glued on the screen as the Carol’s Daughter representative talked, the HSN lady talked, they took a call, they showed hair models, and I dialed like a robot, beep-beep-beep, pressing all the right numbers until I was told my order was complete. The receiver went back on my princess phone, I beat myself up a bit mentally for being such easy prey, shrugged, and continued flipping through the channels.

It arrived today. Simple, yet attractive packaging. Smells pretty nice. But I’m quite sure that my big head of curls is going to eat up these tiny little (pricey) bottles in no time. Which doesn’t make me too happy. See, I’m a JUMBO sized conditioner person. I know, I know, I go to the salon and they talk all this junk about “dime-size, quarter-size” and “you don’t need as much because it is such good product” smack, but you know what? Live with me. Do my hair daily and you’ll see, girlfriend. It takes a handful of change to satisfy the conditioner requirement on my hair. Dime? Quarter? Shoot – sorry. Almost 3 decades and some odd years will confirm that I know my hair, and my hair likes more than a quarter. Thankyouverymuch.

So we’ll see. I’m going to use these products tomorrow, my “Best of the Best” set: Shampoo, Smoothie, Hair Milk & Hair Butter. I’ll let’cha know, good or bad, what I think.

Honestly, I don’t give him much thought in my day-to-day. I don’t listen to his music on a regular basis. The last time I enjoyed MJ, it was at Frank’s cousin’s house. We listened to his greatest hits as we drank wine and ate finger foods. It was fun. Nostalgic with a dash of creepiness thrown in, since Michael was such an oddity. Because of the “kid” accusations, the skin color changes, the plastic surgery…

When I heard the news of his death, I was sad, though. For the same reasons. Nostalgia, no doubt, peppered with a bit of compassion for the later years of his life. It definitely wasn’t what anyone would call normal. And back before exploiting your kids and family on reality TV became all the rage people kinda thought that MJ went a bit koo-koo because he reached high celebrity at such a young age.

Let that sink in, people. Especially those that have cameras follow them and their children around, branding their faces into the world’s brains.

Speculation on Michael’s family and their contribution to his quirkiness was evident. But come on. Kids and early celebrity/icon generally don’t mix well. Most of us can conjure up examples in our head of child-celebrity gone wrong and parents pimping their kids out while they enjoy the riches.

It is a sad trainwreck. As a culture we put people on pedestals for the wrong reasons, treating a celebrity as god because of how they make us feel or how they distract us, or how we envy them. It no longer requires talent to reach a state of godliness in this country. Celebrity, once somewhat reserved for the exceptional (athlete, musician, actor), is now handed out to those born into circumstance (money or otherwise). It is not enough to simply watch their movie, or listen to their music; we want to know where they buy their coffee, what’s their favorite spot on the couch, refrigerator contents and how the inside of their bathroom looks, including the closet.

Endless, the amount of media generated from the “entertainment” business. From magazines, to television shows, blogs… let’s face it, the celebrity in this country are like drugs — if they were eradicated, how many people would be out of a job? What would we do if we could not peer into the lives of others, dissecting it on a daily basis?

The internet is a buzz over Jon & Kate plus 8 (reality TV show on TLC)and the sad situation their family is in right now. I don’t keep up with it, honestly, beyond what I’m not practically forced to know by the magazines at the check-out counter at the grocery store. It bothers me.

I just know that way back when they were first on television, something didn’t sit right with me. It just seemed like such a gamble, to have life be chaotic enough with twins and then the subsequent birth of multiples. I remembered my own house when the twins were born. Two kids in school, one in diapers, plus nursing twins. I couldn’t imagine having cameras flocking around us on a routine basis. It wouldn’t have been a pretty site – nor would it have been good for our establishing family.

If you watch the show you can see how the house transforms, how the mom changes from flustered new mom of a multiples, to a reality television star with frosty hair and metallic sunglasses. How on earth did it come to that? I mean, are you serious? Their faces on mugs and t-shirts? Videos? Like winning the lottery and completely imploding over the course of a few years. I’m convinced that people can have too much of a good thing. Children, especially. No child would likely benefit from a life where they are toted around Hollywood, jetting from city to city (to promote… yourself — how weird is that?!), in front of the media, made a spectacle of at sporting events, the list goes on and on.

Too many options, worrying about what sponsorships to accept, appearances to make, what trip to film, what make-up to wear — and way less focus on the precious years of raising children, stealing moments with your husband.

I suppose you could be envious of the sponsorships, the trips, the free plastic surgery. But then you can also see what “deal with the devil” had been made. At the sacrifice of a marriage, of your children’s childhood? Hindsight is always 20/20, but reality TV doesn’t really care about who they are filming and what the ramifications of the intrusion of their subject’s lives will be. But possibly more thought should be put into shooting reality TV when it involves children. Time will tell if these reality TV “child stars” face the same issues as the child actors who seem prone to confusion, drug-abuse and issues with parents and their hard-earned fortunes.

I’ve been a fan of SNL (not fair-weather, either – a true fan) since I was younger than my oldest kid, I have tapes of Eddie Murphy, Martin Short and would mimic the Church Lady to a “T” on demand. The show has had its ups and downs and recently they’ve had quite a few ups. This one almost made me pee my pants.

First we watched the game at our friend’s house. Lootie’s candid. He was rooting for The Team That Wasn’t The Packers, even though that wasn’t the most comfortable thing to do. In a room full of Packer fans, you’re either with them — or against them. We had pizza, cheeses, dolmati, vino, salami.

After the game was over and the tears were dry, we loafed around, flipping through the channels. We stopped on Animal Planet, intrigued by a show called Grizzly Man. Movie about this guy who spent years and years living in nay-chur alongside the grizzly bears.

Let me back up and say that the friends we were with share a mutual adoration with us for the movie Best in Show. We quote it randomly, giggling like high-schoolers.

Back to Grizzly Man. Literally, we could not figure out if this movie was for real or what. Right down to the narrator’s accent. Mockumentary? Documentary? I think we knew deep down that it was real, but it was surreal that it could actually not be a mockumentary because it sure would have made a good one. The A prime example:

To set the things straight I finally googled the darn thing. It really is for real.

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One mom, one dad, five kids. Living in a 3-bedroom house with one bathroom... more?